I'm at a point where it's hard to follow
the lines of leaders, the dreams of others
not mine, and forced down and hard to swallow,
not bad–not me, if I had my druthers:
Two options: break out, or retrace the line–
retrace, not copy; find origin in sound,
and with the echoes I hear, redefine
my ways of surviving; or just rebound:
A line don't curve, but I've got some bend here,
and I'm arching in space from point to point;
traject or reject / project, persevere–
with so many options, I'm out of joint:
And out of line, though I'm not out of line
in thinking, regardless, all will be fine.